


Chroma

by fruitcakes



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drabble, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Language, colour related metaphors, soonyoung is a year younger, they're all students living in a hostel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 14:24:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10414164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruitcakes/pseuds/fruitcakes
Summary: Soonyoung ups the saturation of Wonwoo's life.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The poems, and some of the italicised quotes are from Chroma: A Book of Colour by Derek Jarman. (Let me know if you wanna read it.)

_At night I dream of colour._  
Some dreams I dream in colour.  
My colour dreams I REMEMBER.

_(Chroma: A Book of Colour by Derek Jarman)_

Wonwoo thinks of the world entirely in terms of colour. Sights, smells, tastes, sounds, memories, emotions—he experiences them all through colour and catalogues them. It isn't a neat archive though, with organised cabinets and date-sorted tabs. Instead, it's an excellent example of order in chaos. They're all scattered helter-skelter inside his brain, yet it makes perfect sense to him. 

His mother is a soft lilac colour, and his dad a muddy orange. His younger brother is a shade of sap green and his home is a pale rose pink colour. 

The associations are sometimes in conformity with the conventions of colours. Usually, they're not. But they feel right to Wonwoo when he thinks about them. 

Wonwoo has never told anyone about this habit. He knows they'll jump to strange conclusions and almost definitely pronounce him a lunatic. So he keeps it all in his head.

It's an asset, he thinks, to be so receptive of the hues that surround him, considering he's a design student. His teachers always praise him for his excellent choice of palettes. 

On the downside, sometimes he's so focused on the colours that he forgets about other things—like feelings. He forgets to pay attention to other people's expressions, their emotions and their thoughts. This wouldn't be such a problem if he wasn't already clueless and a little on the wrong side of gullible. He has colours for people, for things, for places, for foods and drinks. Consequently, it's impossible for him to pick favourites. It sounds ridiculous to him when some people say their favourite colour is red, or yellow or any other word that encompasses a whole world of shades and tints within it. He never says it though, because he knows it will sound pedantic. 

He dwells; he dwells by himself on his Technicolor world. 

  1. _White_



People say white isn't a colour at all, and others say white is made up of all the colours. Neither is true. White is a colour by itself, in itself. 

Snow white, paper white, sickly white—it's everywhere. 

For Wonwoo, he finds White in Soonyoung. The first time they meet is in the mess of the hostel Soonyoung has just taken up a room in. 

Wonwoo comes downstairs with Minghao, excited to watch the repeat of the drama he missed yesterday, only to find some other boy watching cartoons on the only TV in the hostel. 

He stops short. The boy looks up. "Oh, um, do you want to watch?" 

Wonwoo says nothing. 

"Here, you can watch." He says as he gets up and extends the remote towards Wonwoo with a nervous smile. 

Minghao and Wonwoo look dumbstruck at the remote, as if seeing the device for the first time. Their shock isn't misplaced. _No one_ , no one at all, offers to give up the TV in the hostel. It has never once been known to happen and in a way, the brown-haired boy is making history. 

"I-I'm new here." The boy mumbles, hand still clutched around the remote. He shuffles his slipper-clad feet and pulls on the hem of his ratty, blue shirt. 

Minghao recovers swiftly. "Hello. I'm Minghao. Welcome to our hostel."

At this, the boy smiles, flashing pearly white teeth (the kind you see in Happydent ads) and shakes Minghao's hand. "I'm Soonyoung! I live in room 3-1." 

"And this is... Wonwoo." Minghao gestures awkwardly at his friend, who has taken to staring straight at Soonyoung's face with a blank look. "We live in room 2-2." 

Soonyoung's pyjamas are stark white cotton with small black stars on them. It stands out to Wonwoo because he's used to seeing boys in ugly, booger-green boxers and nothing else. 

Soonyoung shifts uncomfortably under his gaze but Wonwoo can't seem to stop staring. Eventually, he hesitates a second or so before placing the remote on the coffee table. "Okay then, I'll uh- I'll see you at di-dinner." He says, and then walks past them. 

Wonwoo gets to enjoy the repeat episode. 

 

As the clock strikes eight, several of the boys descend the stairs to the mess and take up seats on the two long tables, the clamour reverberating against the dirty grey walls. Dinner is always a loud, boisterous affair and Wonwoo has gotten used to it over the past one year. He sits at one end of the table with Minghao and Junhui. Today, Soonyoung shyly joins them. He doesn't say much but laughs at all the right times. 

Turns out, there's vanilla ice cream for dessert. The boys rush to the kitchen like a horde of pigs, claiming their scoops. Wonwoo's a little slow so by the time he gets there, there's only half a spoon of milk left in the bowl. He sighs. 

"Oh, you didn't get any?" 

Wonwoo looks up and sees Soonyoung standing the doorway. 

He shakes his head. "Sadly, no." 

The next thing Wonwoo feels is cold glass being pressed into his palm. "You can have mine." Soonyoung says as he presses the cup of ice cream into Wonwoo's cold hands. The pristine white smile makes an appearance as he takes in the shocked look on Wonwoo's face. 

Before he can say another word, Soonyoung walks out, leaving him with a sizeable scoop of both ice cream and confusion. 

 _No one_ , no one _ever_ offers to give up desert at the hostel mess. 

He returns to the table and listens intently because Soonyoung is talking.

"I'm preparing for the civil services examination." 

"But the classes nearby are all for law entrance exams..." Junhui says. 

"Actually, I won't be taking classes here." Soonyoung says.

This piques Wonwoo's interest because with the exception of him, the rest of the boys in the hostel are all preparing for the law entrance exam, and their coaching classes are just around the corner.

As the conversation progresses, he finds out Soonyoung goes to study in the same part of town as he does. When the boy learns of this, he grins. "Awesome! We can take the subway together then!" 

Wonwoo nods and takes a bite of his ice cream. 

Soonyoung, Wonwoo decides, is the epitome of white—too innocent, too pure to be sullied by anything, and yet all too easy to mar. 

 

White does away with darkness. Early morning when everyone else is dead to the world, Soonyoung and Wonwoo meet in the kitchen and cook breakfast for themselves. Wonwoo warms up the milk for the coffee and Soonyoung boils eggs. They eat in silence and walk out in silence. But as soon as they're out in the grey morning, Soonyoung smiles and sighs as if he's enjoying the squalid air of the capital. Then he starts his chatter, which continues all the way to the subway and then to the intersection where they finally part to go to their own classes. 

Wonwoo doesn't realise but his mornings get a little brighter. 

 

White conceals. The white lace of the wedding gown hides the bride's blushes. 

Two weeks after Soonyoung arrives, Minghao invites him to their Saturday night vigil—no candles, just bottles of alcohol. Wonwoo learns just how _not_ innocent Soonyoung is, when he laughs at all of Junhui's dirty jokes, and blushes a little more with every sip of whiskey he drinks.

Wonwoo always thought white was a cool colour, but that night learns how warm it can be. 

 

  1. _Brown_



When you think brown, you probably imagine something dirty, like poop or mud. Wonwoo thinks along the same lines. 

He and Soonyoung have settled into a comfortable routine of getting up at the ass crack of dawn, sharing a silent breakfast and rushing to take the early morning subway. While Soonyoung departs for his coaching classes, Wonwoo goes on ahead to the small design school he studies at. At lunch, they sometimes meet up at one of the many cafés and sandwich shops and street-food stalls that fill up the gaps between the tall, shaky-looking buildings. 

The entire area of a few square kilometres is a hub—of coaching classes for everything, training centres and small private colleges that award questionable degrees and certificates. Thousands of kids descend there every morning, chasing the middle-class dreams of their parents. The roads are narrow and lined with garbage heaps. They're all rats in the education system, and this place is their hole. It's all brown—a disgusting burnt umber. 

He and Soonyoung usually eat at a relatively clean sandwich shop. The sandwiches are always too saucy, but it fits in their shallow pockets so they make do. 

One of these days, Soonyoung offers to take them to Starbucks since he got an allowance from his brother. 

Wonwoo gets there before him and hesitantly sits down in a chair with a book on his lap.

"Excuse me?" 

He looks up. There's a girl standing there. He recognises her—Hyeri. She stands tall and intimidating, looming over Wonwoo.  

"Hello." She says with a half-smile. Wonwoo nods in response. Hyeri is his classmate. He's talked to her maybe twice in the past year. Despite the fact that she dresses exclusively in pastels, something about her screams fuchsia to Wonwoo—bright, jarring and unpleasantly gaudy. 

"May I sit here?" She asks, gesturing with her coffee, at the chair opposite Wonwoo.

"I-uh-" He is still struggling with his syllables when she cuts him off abruptly. "Thank you!" She chirps and plops herself down on the opposite chair. Wonwoo is dumbstruck and doesn't know what to do. All of his words are stuck in his throat. 

She starts talking about their classes, commenting on the professors and the fuchsia overwhelms Wonwoo. Fifteen minutes pass. 

"Wonwoo, can I have your number?" She asks in the middle of their conversation, shyly biting her lower lip. (What conversation? It's just her rambling.) 

"Hyeri, actually I'm here to meet a friend." 

She takes this in the worst possible way. She stands up so abruptly that her lid-less coffee cup tumbles over right into Wonwoo's lap. It stings his skin and stains his white button up and soaks the pages of his book. 

"You couldn't have spoken up sooner? I can't believe you let me make a fool of myself!" She shouts, making heads turn towards them. 

Wonwoo would have been embarrassed if he wasn't so occupied by the burning sensation of the liquid and the heady scent of caramel. 

"What the hell is going on?" 

Wonwoo looks up from his lap and sees Soonyoung standing by their table, his brows furrowed. 

Hyeri is seething. She glares at Soonyoung. "Who the fuck are you?" She shouts. Wonwoo flinches at the profanity. 

"I'm his friend. Who the fuck are _you_?" Soonyoung shouts back just as loudly and just as domineering. 

"Well then, teach your friend to speak the fuck up." She swears under her breath once more and then storms out. 

The patrons return to their business when the show ends. 

"God, what _happened?_ " Soonyoung asks as he takes in the state of the table and Wonwoo's clothes. 

"Come here." He shrugs off his bag and tugs on Wonwoo's arm, leading him towards the washrooms at the back of the café. 

Inside the narrow square of space, Wonwoo's lips feel a little wobbly. He looks at the brown stain and feels guilt; guilt at having hurt the girl's feelings. It was unintentional. He was just too focused on the fuchsia. 

Soonyoung wets paper towels and attempts to salvage the shirt and pants, his hands scrubbing at the starched cotton.

"What happened?"

The mortification catches up with Wonwoo and he sniffles, fights the tears. He shakes his head. Soonyoung looks up and feels helpless at the sight of Wonwoo's cheeks streaked with tears. 

The walls are sienna and desert sand—a sickening combination that's too warm under the golden ceiling lights. 

“It's not your fault, Wonwoo.” Soonyoung says, without even knowing what happened. He hesitantly reaches and wipes away the tears. Wonwoo can sense the uncertainty and knows the cause of it is the fact that their friendship is only a few weeks old. 

But he feels like testing the boundaries. So he does. He wraps his arms around Soonyoung, well aware that it's uncalled for. He doesn't need the comfort. 

He turns his head sideways and focuses of the russet of Soonyoung's hair and forgets about the cocoa stain on his shirt, as his heart eases.

  1. _Teal_



Two months later, Wonwoo learns just how impulsive Soonyoung is. He comes back to the hostel after visiting his family for the weekend and sees a shining blue head of hair watching Spongebob Squarepants on the TV. 

He peeks his head out from the kitchen doorway and chokes on his water when he sees who it is. 

Soonyoung looks up at his hacking coughs. "Hi! You're back!" He smiles and hops off the sofa, towards Wonwoo. 

Wonwoo can't take his eyes off the boy's hair, he’s boring holes into the locks and unable to get over his shock. 

"You… you like it?" Soonyoung asks, shyly as he reaches up with his fingers to brush his bangs this way and that. It falls like a gentle curtain on his forehead, stands out brilliantly against the flesh tint. 

Wonwoo nods. "It's...different. _Good_ different." 

Soonyoung beams at the compliment, twirling his shoulders side to side. Wonwoo smiles. 

When they sit side by side on the subway the next morning, he wonders at the incongruity of the hair colour amongst heads of browns and blacks. It sticks out like a sore thumb. But in the isolated environment of just Soonyoung, it fits right in. 

Wonwoo can't stop admiring the boldness with which Soonyoung pulls it off. When the boys are all in the mess for dinner the next day, they notice his hair. 

"Hey! Gatorade!" They shout and mock and laugh. 

Soonyoung isn't fazed. He grins and nods. "You all could use some energy anyways." He says boldly. Soon enough, they're not laughing _at_ him, they're laughing _with_ him. Wonwoo feels so envious that he loses his appetite. He's never had the ability to get people to do his bidding and the ease with which Soonyoung does it, makes him feel bitter. 

He leaves the food half eaten and climbs the stairs to his room. Fifteen minutes later, someone knocks on the door. He sighs, climbing down from the bunk. Opening the door, he finds Soonyoung standing there with a bowl in his hands and a smile. "Hi." 

"What do you want, Listerine-head?" Wonwoo jokes, forgetting all about the sea-green envy he had felt not long ago. 

"I saved you some pudding." 

"You didn't have to." 

"I know you like custard pudding."

"Have you eaten?" Wonwoo asks, leaning against the doorway. 

"No, I thought we could eat together." Soonyoung says, holding up two spoons in his hand. 

Wonwoo lets him in and they share the bowl of the pudding with the custard far too concentrated and the orange too sour. 

"Can I touch it?" Wonwoo asks, licking his spoon, his eyes trained on Soonyoung's hair. 

The boy looks confused but nods anyway. Just as Wonwoo thought, it's smooth and silky and conditioned. It looks strange against the Naples yellow of Wonwoo's skin. 

"You really like it huh?" Soonyoung asks. 

Wonwoo nods. 

Up until then, teal, for him had meant the crystal-clear, sparkly waters of the sea. Now, he thinks it's Soonyoung's hair. 

  1. _Black_



Soonyoung fails his first big mock test. He scores so low, he falls off the ranking in his coaching institute and they send a letter to his parents about his bad performance. He gets a long lecture from them over the phone, at a loss for explanations about what happened. He doesn't know, he says, over and over again, raising his voice each time, till it becomes audible to Wonwoo who's standing in the second floor kitchen. 

He turns down the flame on the stove and walks out of the kitchen. He stands at the foot of the stairs and strains to listen to the loud voice from Soonyoung's room. He wonders if it's his roommate Seokmin. But then he hears a loud 'mom, please!' And he recognises the timbre of the voice. 

He waits, till he hears no more. He sips his tea, standing in the kitchen and then makes another cup. Carefully, he carries it up the stairs and knocks on the door of room 3-1. 

"Who is it?" A muted mumble comes from the other side. 

"Wonwoo." 

The door opens, with Soonyoung hiding behind it. Wonwoo walks in and sets the steaming cup down on the desk. 

"I got you tea." He says. He lifts his eyes and his heart clenches as he takes in his friend's red rimmed eyes and blotchy face. 

"Soonyoung-ah…" he says softly. The boy is still holding the knob of the door, his eyes fixed on one corner of the room and his lower lip clamped tightly between his teeth, shoulders shaking imperceptibly. 

There's the silence of the calm that precedes a storm, before Soonyoung breaks down crying, slinking onto the floor as his knees give out. Ugly sobs wrack his frame and he looks so pitiful, with his shorts bunched up around his thighs and t-shirt hanging halfway off his left shoulder

"Soonyoung!" Wonwoo lunges forward and reaches for his shoulders, grasping at them helplessly. 

Fat tears streak Soonyoung's face and he heaves, struggling to breathe. Wonwoo keeps holding his shoulders, not knowing what to do. Crying, sadness, it's a scary ultramarine blue to him, that he can't handle. 

"I-I- I tr-tried _so hard._ " Soonyoung says through his sobs, his lips trembling. 

Wonwoo shushes him. "I know. I know. Don't talk." He pulls him up gently and leads them to his bed. 

He sits the boy down against the wall and faces him. He feels his hands go cold as Soonyoung keeps crying and crying, the sound ringing strident in Wonwoo's skull. 

When he can't take it anymore he hugs Soonyoung, as tightly as his arms will let him. He tried to stifle the boy's cries in the embrace but it doesn't work. He straightens up. He pulls the sleeve of his shirt over his palm and carefully wipes at the tears. The wetness soaks the fabric—bleeding the distressed grey into a black. 

Soonyoung stops then. His eyelashes are clumped together with tears, so Wonwoo wipes at those too. When he's certain his shirt won't get snot on it, he puts a hand on the back of the boy's head and pulls it towards his shoulder, wrapping his arms around him. He holds Soonyoung, as he stares at the inky black of the night sky through the window. 

_When what is black is mixed with the light of the sun and fire, the result is always red._

_(Aristotle)_

  1. _Red_



In the broadest sense possible, Wonwoo can say he likes red. To be particular, he likes crimson. The rich, bright colour is oppugnant to his mellow, almost bland personality. But he supposes that's why he likes it so much. 

He likes coral red because it's Minghao's colour; soft but exciting at the same time. 

He despises the cardinal red of the paper hearts they always decorate the hallways of his college with on Valentine's Day. 

Soonyoung is standing on the stair landing and calling out to him. "Wonwoo! Wonwoo! Do you want to order pizza?" 

Wonwoo huffs and pulls the door open. "Stop shouting! Come downstairs!" He shouts right back. 

"I'm lazy! You come upstairs!" 

"Fuck off!" He hears the boys standing in the kitchen snicker. 

"Please." Soonyoung whines. Wonwoo cringes and sighs. He begrudgingly climbs the stairs, making sure to slap his slippers extra loudly with each step, making a show of how much effort he's putting into it. 

"You can't come down and knock on my door like a civilised human being?" 

"Where's the fun in that?" Soonyoung giggles. 

"I hate you." Wonwoo mumbles and pushes past him to enter his room. 

"I know. Anyways, they're giving a special 30% discount for Valentine's Day. What do you want?" 

Seokmin is sitting at his desk, his nose in a book on Corporate Law. "A date." He deadpans. 

"I asked Wonwoo."

"Wonwoo wants a date too. He's lonely. Look at his hair. He hasn't cut it in three months." Seokmin twists in his chair and point at Wonwoo's head. Wonwoo decides he hates the boy and his ugly fire brick red t-shirt. 

"I'm not lonely." He says, emphasising each word. "I'm just growing out my hair." Seokmin scoffs and Soonyoung laughs. 

"I came here for pizza. Not to get insulted by a horse." Wonwoo says sharply. 

"Okay. So pepperoni?" Soonyoung asks, dialling the number of the pizza place. 

Wonwoo nods. 

By the time pizza arrives, Seokmin has left to study at his friend's so it's just Soonyoung and Wonwoo sat cross legged on his bed, watching Two Broke Girls on Soonyoung's laptop and stuffing their faces with pizza like their lives depend on it. Considering how bad the mess food is, that might just be the case.

Soonyoung guffaws even with his mouth full of pizza. Wonwoo isn't disgusted at all. Why, he can't understand. Something in his head has shifted, the cause of which isn't certain. 

At the end of the meal, he notices the vermilion of ketchup on the corner of Soonyoung's mouth. He takes a tissue and wipes it, while the other boy is still watching the show intently. 

He doesn't notice the scarlet that blooms on Soonyoung's cheeks after the gesture. 

That night he lies in bed for so long, unable to sleep and stares at the ceiling. He scrolls through Instagram and Facebook but still isn't able to fall asleep. Eventually, he gives up. He soundlessly grabs his mug from his desk, and leaves the room. He walks towards the kitchen with the intent of getting some warm milk but Soonyoung beats him to it. He's already there in the kitchen, staring into the depths of a saucepan on the stove, his hand resting on his hip. 

"You're not asleep?" Wonwoo asks.

 Soonyoung jumps. "Fuck! You scared me you asshole!" He accuses as he clutches at his chest. Wonwoo laughs. 

"I couldn't sleep." Soonyoung says, as he swirls the milk around in the pan. 

"Me neither." Wonwoo says as he adds more milk to the pan for himself. They stand side by side as steam begins to rise from the pan and the milk simmers. 

They sip slowly and talk even slower—unhurried like they have all night. Their eyes are a sickly salmon colour the next day, but Wonwoo doesn't care. He thinks he can put up with it some more if it means he gets to have quiet conversations with Soonyoung. 

The colour red is used, most commonly, to denote love. Wonwoo has never associated it with love before. Until now.

They're sitting on his bed, scrolling through memes on Soonyoung's feed. The boy is rambling on and on about god knows what. He's been at it for so long that Wonwoo's hardly listening now. He's mesmerised by the carmine of Soonyoung's lips as he talks. He doesn't realise how hard he's staring, trying to commit the shade to memory, until Soonyoung’s fingers intercept his line of vision. 

"Is there something on my face?" He asks, tilting his head and touching his cheeks with the tips of his fingers. 

Wonwoo swallows nervously. "No- I- " He's lost his voice. 

Soonyoung chuckles softly. "Have you seen a ghost? Why do you look so terrified?" 

Wonwoo isn't terrified because he's been caught staring. He’s terrified because of what he is about to do next. 

 _Courage is red_ , he thinks and leans in. He presses his lips to Soonyoung's with a silent prayer. Soonyoung's lips are warm and plush and Wonwoo loses sense of everything else. A few seconds pass and Soonyoung doesn't retreat. Emboldened, Wonwoo pressed more firmly, his hands bunching in the maroon of Soonyoung's shirt. He sucks on his bottom lip, desperate to taste the carmine bleed into his mouth. 

Soonyoung kisses him back just as passionately, without any shade of hesitation. He's fiercely gentle. When Wonwoo pulls back, he can't seem to open his eyes. 

Soonyoung brushes the pad of his thumb against Wonwoo's lips, his hand holding his chin. "I'm guessing you like me." He says and Wonwoo can imagine the cheeky grin he must be sporting.

He laughs airily but doesn't speak a word. 

"It's okay; you don't have to say anything." Soonyoung says, as if reading his mind. He slots his hand through Wonwoo's own. 

When Wonwoo finally opens his eyes, he sees Soonyoung's lips are crimson. 

Summer used to be crimson. Now, Soonyoung is. He is all of the colours Wonwoo ever experiences—from the muted greys to the bubbly cadmium yellow and cobalt blue. 

Soonyoung is all of the colours all at once. 

 _Brilliant, gorgeous, painted, gay,_  
Vivid, flaunting, tearaway,  
Glowing, flaring, lurid, loud,  
Screaming, shrieking, marching, proud,  
Mellow, matching, deep and sombre,  
Pastel, sober, dead and dull,  
Constant, colourful, chromatic,  
Party-coloured and prismatic,  
Kaleidoscopic, variegated,  
Tattooed, dyed, illuminated,  
Daub and scumble, dip and dye,  
High-keyed colour, colour lie.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm aware this isn't excellent by any measure. But I was so hooked on the idea that I couldn't stop writing even if I wanted to. Let me know what you thought! :D
> 
> P.S. Wonwoo doesn't have synaesthesia. He chooses to connect colours with other things. It's a conscious desicion.


End file.
